Peter Johannson stood in the doorway between the bath and bedroom with only a towel wrapped about his trim waist. He had just stepped from the shower and drops of water glistened on his bronze skin and upon the too-short ends of his blonde hair that was regulation Corps.
It might seem odd, but he smiled as he took in the sight before him. Curled up in the bed that they had shared since getting married four years before was his stunningly beautiful blonde wife Jill. He supposed that alone was enough to bring a smile to most men's face. But this morning, wrapped about his wife and with his long dark legs intertwined with Jill's pale ones was his best friend, Damran.
Hell, if anyone had told him when they met two years ago that they would become best friends and closer than brothers, he would have laughed. They were an odd match. He was small-town, farm boy from the cold mid-west. Damran was hood to the core. Like his gorgeous wife, Damran had grown up in the foster system. His story in some ways was even more heart-breaking than Jill's. He ended up in care at the age of four when his alcoholic mother beat him for wetting his bed and killed his brother in the process when he tried to protect Damran. His lips curled as he could almost hear his mother admonish him for taking in 'more strays.'
But those two were more than the wounded animals that he had been adopting and nursing back to health since he could toddle. Along with his parents and the tow-headed little boy sound asleep down the hall; those two were his family, his world. He knew it would seem twisted and perverted to the world. Hell, his daddy would take him out behind the barn and beat his ass if he knew what happened here last night. But it had felt so shockingly natural to share his wife and bed with his best friend, brother and the man to whom he owed his very life.
It had happened a little over a year ago. Their platoon was on patrol just outside of Baghdad. It was another of the dozens of roadside bombs that had come to haunt their every day in this blazing hot god-forsaken place and fill every nightmare in the cold desert nights. Damran had sensed something he said. Peter knew better than to push for a deeper explanation. The whole platoon and half the damned Marines in Iraq knew to trust Damran's 'senses.' He had screamed and pushed Peter to relative safety a fraction of a second before the explosion. They had both ended up with scars of the walking wounded. Peter's was a nasty gash that ran the length of his bicep from shoulder to elbow. But Damran's was worse. There were nasty scars poking the dark chocolate expanse of his whole back. He had taken the brunt of the blast and suffered second and third degree burns as a result.
Even then it did not fully explain the bond between the two men. He supposed it was 'man love' as modern world called such close friendships. He really could not imagine sharing such intimacies as they had last night with another human being. But he had wanted to give them both an unforgettable Christmas present...his wife and his best friend. He had come up with this idea when he overheard one of his other friends talking about 'swinging' with his wife. At first, his small-town Lutheran upbringing had been revolted by the whole sinful idea. After all, they had both sworn to 'forsake all others until death do you part.'
But over the weeks, he began to have dreams, hot dreams, of making love with his wife and sharing her with his best friend. He knew it would not be easy. Jill still did not open up to many people. Besides he was the only man she had ever been with; having given him her virginity on their wedding night. So the idea that she would go along with his plan to share her with his African-American friend that looked a great deal like the guy from the Green Mile was a stretch. But he also knew that his wife was a passionate woman...and given more than a couple of glasses of wine hornier than a mare in spring heat.
So he had begun to plan. Of course, it did not take more than a couple of peaks at the X-rates pictures of Jill on his laptop to convince Damran that it was a fine idea. But arranging even their holiday leaves to coincide took the blessing of the U S Marine Corps. His parents had welcomed their guest with open arms of Christian love; after all the poor boy had no where else to go. Peter was just thankful that his father had insisted they build their own house out near the old oak tree when their son was born. It made the rest of his plan workable.
